


my soul and my youth (it’s all for you to use)

by voxofthevoid



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Laura Barton/Natasha Romanov, Consensual Drugging, Consensual Somnophilia, D/s, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Fisting, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Kink Negotiation, Laundry List of Kinks, M/M, Married Couple, Mirror Sex, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: He waits until Bucky’s got a happy mouthful of eggs and toast.“I want to fuck you when you’re asleep.”Bucky has too much control over himself to spit out his food, no matter how startled, and he’s too well mannered thanks to Winnifred Barnes’ loving supervision to talk with his mouth full, both of which were what Steve was banking on. Plus, it’s fascinating to watch Bucky’s eyes bug out and then narrow. No other man can chew so slowly while radiating not-necessarily-friendly intent.Steve smiles his sweetest smile, and Bucky’s eyes narrow further, until they’re luminous blue slits.He swallows.Steve helplessly tracks the bob of his throat and drags his eyes back up to Bucky’s.“Steven Grant,” Bucky says, tone somewhere between amusement and admonishment. “Way to spring that on a guy.”“I’m communicating!”“You’re an asshole is what you are.”-Steve, Bucky, and a never-ending quest to crawl into each other’s flesh.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 76
Kudos: 487
Collections: To remember and cherish





	my soul and my youth (it’s all for you to use)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the one I’ve been calling my somnophilia fic on tumblr, but this chapter’s mostly discussion and negotiation with other kinds of sex. The somnophilia and...other things will be in the next chapter. 
> 
> A little note: This one has a lot of references to Steve and Bucky trying out a lot of kinks, including temperature play, light CBT, belting, mild pet play, neglect fantasy, roleplay…and god knows what else. I haven’t tagged these because that would be false advertisement, but be warned they’ll non-graphically appear in the text.

Steve wakes to a pleasant heat between his legs and softness surrounding him. He instinctively presses into that inviting sensation, a second before his brain wakes up enough to know it’s Bucky whose body is sprawled on top of his, whose thick thigh Steve is grinding into, whose warm skin is soft and yielding under Steve’s clumsy groping.

He stills.

Sometime in the night, Bucky apparently decided to use Steve’s chest as his pillow and committed to it. He’s sound asleep, mouth open and drooling on Steve’s bare skin, more endearing than he’s got any right to be. There’s a faint flush to his cheeks though. Steve knows the signs of Bucky having a very good dream, and this ain’t it. It’s not rocket science, connecting Bucky’s faint arousal to Steve’s hard dick all pressed up to and, until a moment ago, rutting against him. And Steve isn’t moving anymore, but his cock’s still hard and poking Bucky’s thigh, and there’s something about this, Bucky utterly out of it but so _sweet_ about it, body welcoming Steve’s even in sleep.

It makes him want to reach down and cup Bucky’s soft, bubbly ass in his hands, maybe slide a finger between his cheeks where he’s probably still open from last night, and see how much of Steve he can take before he wakes up with a gasp or a whimper, the pink on his face darkening into flaming red.

Steve’s whole body feels hot and electric, and his cock’s leaking now, smearing wetness into Bucky’s thigh.

He’s not sure if it’s that or the scrutiny—Bucky has always been sensitive to being watched, but after the Winter Soldier programming, that awareness qualifies as a sixth sense—that wakes Bucky up.

“Steve,” is his first word, voice rough from sleep but so soft somehow. “Mm. Hello. Someone’s awake.”

“Me or my dick?”

“There a difference?”

“Always knew you married me for my cock, Barnes.”

Bucky laughs and wipes his face on Steve’s chest, cleaning his face off drool. It’s objectively disgusting. Steve, a certified sucker for all things Bucky Barnes, tilts Bucky’s face into a wet, messy kiss that’s probably more disgusting than the drool, what with their combined supersoldier-grade morning breaths.

Bucky Jr perks up between their bodies.

“You taste like ass,” Bucky mumbles, his complaint offset by how he has started to grind down a little, except that his body’s still lazy from sleep, and it ends up as weak squirming that gets Steve going like nothing else.

“You taste like dick,” Steve counters like an adult and kisses Bucky deeper for good measure. Bucky gasps into it and starts moving with intent, the last of sleep fleeing his limbs as every part of him wakes up. He shifts about, and Steve knows what he’s doing and moves to help, and soon, they’re rutting together, cocks sliding hard and hot against each other.

And it’s good, so good, Bucky gasping into his mouth and tugging at his hair and writhing like he’ll die without Steve’s skin, but when Steve comes, the image that burns itself into his mind is Bucky passed out on top of him, dead to the world and all Steve’s.

-

Breakfast is a ritual these days. It started because Steve did not cope well to retirement in those first few years, and there came a point when not even three of hours of morning runs made a dent in the energy thrumming through his limbs. It felt wasteful to do nothing, and Steve knew even then that under the layers of well-intentioned bullshit, what haunted him was Erskine’s dying gesture and the thought that he was letting him down by not getting shot at on a weekly basis.

He refused to bother Sam about it because Sam deserved to be Captain America without his predecessor haunting him and also, the guy was Steve’s friend, not his therapist.

His actual therapist was the one who suggested other outlets. And Steve freely admits to scoffing internally at it then, and in all honestly, it was no magic cure and he still spends more hours than is advisable running or beating bags to shit, but it’s good to wake up to Bucky in his bed and come back from a run and vibrate around in the kitchen, throwing ingredients together to make something edible.

The smell of toast and eggs lures Bucky out of the bed. He fell right back asleep after the morning sex, and Steve almost ran out of the room before he got too interested in that particular picture.

Bucky shuffles into the kitchen and hoists himself onto the counter, swinging his legs like an overgrown toddler. Steve kisses him, makes a face at the taste of toothpaste, and goes back to making sure the bread doesn’t end up a charred crisp.

He has to bat Bucky’s hands away from the eggs at least five times, but that’s instinctive by now.

It’s only once they settle down on either side of their moderately sized kitchen table that the morning’s thoughts rush back to haunt Steve. Luckily, they have a system in place for these things.

He waits until Bucky’s got a happy mouthful of eggs and toast.

“I want to fuck you when you’re asleep.”

Bucky has too much control over himself to spit out his food, no matter how startled, and he’s too well mannered thanks to Winnifred Barnes’ loving supervision to talk with his mouth full, both of which were what Steve was banking on. Plus, it’s fascinating to watch Bucky’s eyes bug out and then narrow. No other man can chew so slowly while radiating not-necessarily-friendly intent.

Steve smiles his sweetest smile, and Bucky’s eyes narrow further, until they’re luminous blue slits.

He swallows.

Steve helplessly tracks the bob of his throat and drags his eyes back up to Bucky’s.

“Steven Grant,” Bucky says, tone somewhere between amusement and admonishment. “Way to spring that on a guy.”

“I’m communicating!”

“You’re an asshole is what you are.”

Steve grins at him. Bucky shakes his head, but under the exasperation, he’s thinking, considering. The expression is familiar from many a context but mostly from things just like this, which says a lot about their flourishing sex life. Turns out that relative peace and a lack of world-ending disasters and near-death experiences can do wonders for your relationship. Hell, they got married, and their punk selves making frantic, filthy love in the 30s and 40s would drop dead from sheer shock if they knew.

“When I’m asleep, huh,” Bucky says at length. “Lemme guess. This morning?”

Steve nods, shrugging even as heat suffuses his cheek. It still gets to him, the memory of Bucky spread out on him like that, dead to the world and so— _vulnerable_.

Bucky leans in, taking Steve’s expression in with great interest.

“That really got to you, huh? Care to share with the class, Rogers?”

It’s Steve’s turn to fall silent and think. He knows why he wants to do it, but damn if he knows how to put it into words. He’s wished more than once that he could just build some telepathic bridge between their minds, but each time, he remembers that their heads are bags of rabid, traumatized rats on a good day.

Bucky goes back to his breakfast, conspicuously giving Steve time and space. He’s the best husband to ever husband.

Steve picks absently at his own food, mind flying this way and that. He revisits similar conversations, and god knows they’ve had quite a few of them. Bucky’s always liked it real rough, and Steve’s only ever been too happy to give it to him, but after Thanos, after the dust settled, after he lost Bucky once again with piercing finality, got him back again by some twist of fate, and Steve pulled his head out of his ass to go after the one thing he’s wanted with burning selfishness ever since an assassin’s mask fell off on a bridge—well, things have been a lot more intense, after all that.

“It’s the vulnerability, I think,” he says finally. Bucky looks up, meets his eyes with calm expectation. There’s no judgement anywhere in him. “You looked all—soft. Plaint. Trusting, like you’d—” Steve shudders a little, body stirring at just the words and the memories that accompany them. Bucky’s eyes darken in response, and he sits up a little straighter. “Like you’d let me do anything to you.”

“I already do,” Bucky says, voice gone deep.

“You do, sweetheart, but you should have seen yourself this mornin’ in bed. All flushed and sweet. Looked like you’d have let me in without even a whisper and slept right through it too.”

“Jesus,” Bucky hisses, and Steve recognizes the way he shifts, bets that if he looks down, he’ll find Bucky with his legs crossed like that’ll help hide his need. “You want this bad, don’t you?”

“Only if you do, Buck. You know that.”

Bucky huffs a laugh, looking pleased even as Steve states an obvious truth.

They’ve tried a lot of things and not all of them made the cut. Ice is a big no. Something about the sensation makes Bucky freeze up, and maybe the reason is pretty clear, but he insists that it’s nothing like cryo, so maybe it’s just one of those things that just doesn’t work. Wax is on the opposite end of the spectrum; Bucky’s mostly neutral about it on his upper half, even his sensitive nipples, but dribble a little over his cock, his balls, his hole, and he starts gasping like he’s dying, writhing into and away from the hurt.

If they made a list, they’d have an impressive array of kinks they’ve tried, some crossed out, some circled with hearts all over them.

As if he can sense the direction of Steve’s thoughts, Bucky bites his lips, smiles in that way that shorts out Steve’s higher brain functions.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises.

“Thank you, Buck.”

That, of all things, makes Bucky duck his head, red creeping up his neck. The sight of it does things to Steve, belly drawing up tight as his mind helpfully supplies a slideshow of Bucky’s skin in varying shades of red—the pink of his cheeks from growing arousal and the violent crisscross of red on his back after Steve took a belt to it.

Bucky glances up and catches Steve’s eye, and it must show through, what Steve’s thinking, because Bucky’s mouth opens in a shuddering exhale and his hands abandon his food to clench on the table.

“Come here,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky stands up, jerky like a puppet with its string tugged. His little shorts don’t leave much to the imagination, and Steve eyes the bulge there hungrily, pushing his own chair back and spreading his legs in invitation.

Bucky starts to straddle him, but Steve stops him with a hand on his thigh, squeezing tight enough to make the skin around it go bloodless and white.

“On your knees.”

Bucky doesn’t sink down so much as drop like a brick, knees hitting the floor with a thud that makes Steve smile.

“Someone’s desperate.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, peering up at Steve from under insanely long lashes. “You.”

And well, Steve can’t deny that per se. His sweatpants don’t hide much either, especially not when Bucky leans in and mouths at Steve’s dick through the fabric. The pale grey darkens with spit, but Bucky doesn’t do much else, waiting politely for instructions like the good boy he occasionally tries to be.

Steve rewards him with fingers sliding through his hair, winding the long strands around his fist to make an impromptu leash. He tugs, just a little, and Bucky’s neck arches, baring his pretty little throat. It’s just begging for some teeth.

“We’ll see about that,” Steve says, a promise of his own.

-

Steve doesn’t forget the conversation so much as deliberately put it out of his mind, letting it resurface only in moments when he’s got a hand or a hole around his dick, sucking all sense out of him. There’s no telling how long Bucky will take to say yay or nay. The average is a week or two, but there was that one time Steve casually mentioned watching porn of fisting, and Bucky brought it up almost seven months after the fact, face set in an exquisite mixture of determination and apprehension.

That one did get a long, thick tick mark in their mental List of Kinks.

Anyway, it’s not that hard to focus on other things. They both have their work, albeit with erratic schedules. Bucky, forever cursed to be Captain America’s sidekick as Sam jokes, gets called in two days later. When it’s Fury or Hill calling, it’s fifty-fifty whether he’ll accept the mission or tell them to fuck themselves with a cactus, but when it’s Sam on the other side of the phone, he only gives the one answer. Steve kisses him goodbye at the door, thinking of the stealth suit he’s still got stashed at the bottom of the closet, and tries not to show on his face that he’s thinking of having to use it.

Bucky kisses him like he knows anyway, says, “I’ll be back in time for dinner. Don’t get arrested while I’m gone.”

“You know I’ll only get handcuffed with you, baby,” Steve retorts, heart clenching hard at how the corners of Bucky’s eyes crinkle at his grin.

Bucky doesn’t make it back for dinner, but he calls Steve to say as much, sounding very put-upon. Coincidentally enough, Natasha shows up that afternoon, carrying a big bag of take-out because she doesn’t trust Steve to cook after that time he fucked up her stir-fry, and she’s also the type to burn water in the kitchen. Not that Steve’s complaining; he rarely cooks when it’s just him.

“You’re coming to meet the kids tomorrow. They miss you,” she says through a mouthful of pasta, painting a very different picture than the Black Widow’s poised elegance. Steve has loved Natasha in many forms, but he thinks this might be his favorite. “Stop judging my table manners, Steve.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” he says, hiding a smile in his slice of pizza. “Laura won’t mind?”

“She unofficially calls you their godfather now, and if the two of us were the kind to spawn, you bet your ass there’d a Steve or Stephanie in the family.”

Steve doesn’t hide how that makes him go all gooey inside. Natasha rolls her eyes at him, but Steve knows how gone she is on Laura and the kids and the ghost of Clint, knows what it meant that they helped her let go of her guilt over Vormir, and it’s there even now, in the smile at the corner of her mouth that she doesn’t bother hiding.

They get on a car to Missouri in the morning. Bucky calls him that night too, and they talk while Steve aimlessly wanders the Barton farm, looking at the stars and thinking of Bucky’s eyes.

And after everything, they come home to each other, night after night, week after week, and that alone is all Steve needs to keep on living.

-

Brushing your teeth together in a cabinet meant for one is an exercise in fond exasperation and sharp elbowing. Steve and Bucky have elevated it into an artform.

Bucky finishes first, and Steve’s still scrubbing at his molars when Bucky says, “I like the idea.”

“I’m happy for you,” Steve says, withdrawing the brush from his molars so that the words won’t be too mangled. “What idea?”

Bucky swats his ass, and Steve gropes him in return, and then it descends into a mess of hands wandering into places they probably shouldn’t wander when there’s a toothbrush in one party’s mouth.

Steve manages to rinse his mouth and put the brush away before it takes an eye out. Bucky looks too damn fond, leaning against the counter and watching him, but he’s temptation incarnate too, clad in nothing but a flimsy thong that he tries to pass off as legitimate sleepwear but Steve knows is meant to entice him into ripping it off and fucking Bucky to sleep.

Oh, wait—

“Ah,” he says, lightbulb going off above his head. “The sleep thing.”

“I really did not marry you for your brain, did I?”

“C’mon, Buck, it’s been a month!”

“Yeah, and you absolutely haven’t thought of it in a month.”

“Thought crimes aren’t grounds for persecution.”

Bucky shakes his head, not quite smothering the smile that wants to break out. Steve reaches for him, running a hand up the hard plane of Bucky’s stomach and over the softer bulge of his chest, squeezing a generous pec in one hand. The flesh swells out from between Steve’s fingers, and he squeezes harder, Bucky’s whiny little gasp music to his ears.

“Cut it out,” Bucky says, notably doing jackshit to pry Steve’s hands off him. “We’re having a mature conversation here, you pervert.”

“What, we can’t talk with my hand on your tits? Disappointed in you, buddy. Where’s that famed focus of yours?”

“It crawled to my dick,” Bucky snaps, and fuck, he’s a pretty picture, cheeks flushed and eyes dark.

It reminds Steve of the images that’s been happily haunting him for the aforementioned month, of Bucky asleep and pliant, all of him surrendered to Steve. He lets go of Bucky’s chest, reluctantly, rubbing his thumb over the peaked nipple as if in apology.

Bucky shivers at the lack of touch, and Steve graciously doesn’t mention how he arches his chest to try and follow Steve’s hand.

“Okay,” Steve says, clutching the sink edge so he won’t be tempted to reach down and adjust his swelling dick. “Talk time. You like the idea. But…?”

“I _really_ like the idea,” Bucky says, eyes gleaming. “But I won’t sleep through it. You feelin’ me up a bit? Yeah, sure, that’s practically routine. But anything more than that, and I’ll wake up.”

Steve blinks, feeling like a monumental idiot.

“I didn’t think of that,” he says quietly. “Didn’t even occur to me. Damn.”

“Sometimes, honey, your little brain just takes over. S’okay, I get it.”

Steve can’t even protest, though he does make a half-hearted swat at Bucky, flushing when his hand is caught and a kiss is smacked against the palm.

“Lucky for you,” Bucky continues, holding Steve’s hand and grinning with that wicked light in his eyes, “I know how to fix that.”

Steve’s eyebrows do a steady descent to his hairline as Bucky waits expectantly for Steve to actually ask. He does, curious beyond measure. Bucky’s hypervigilance used to be much worse than it is now, barely letting him sleep through the night or live in the city without seeing sniper nests at every corner. Even now, no one but Steve gets to touch him when he’s asleep or sneak up on him without getting a knife to the eye socket.

Bucky’s answering smile is a small, secret thing.

“I still have some of the pills Bruce made. I checked the expiry last week. They’re good.”

Steve opens his mouth, closes it without uttering a single sound, and promptly opens it again.

“I—Buck, those knock you right out. For hours.”

“About four, five hours, yeah,” Bucky says with a shrug, the gesture belying the intensity of his gaze on Steve. “I can sleep through a gunfight with those. Pretty sure your dick ain’t more of a nuisance.”

“I’ll show you a nuisance,” Steve throws back automatically, playing right into what Bucky wants. “You sure, Buck? I didn’t—I didn’t factor this in. If something goes wrong, if I need to wake you—”

“Then you’ll find a way that doesn’t involve your dick,” Bucky says confidently, and Steve knows then and there that Bucky not only spent the whole damn month considering every aspect of this but that he also wants this, likely as much as Steve does.

Bruce first made those pills four years ago when Bucky spent two months without sleeping through the night, trudging along on little more than one or two hours of sleep, even that disturbed by nightmares he talked about in quiet, scattered fragments. The pills helped for a while. Therapy helped more. These days, Bucky gets an average of six hours, and even when a mission or trigger brings back the insomnia, it doesn’t last months the way it used to.

It means—something, a lot of something, that he’s willing to take them just so Steve can fuck him when he’s asleep. It’s not something Bucky would do just to indulge a whim of Steve’s.

“You want this bad too, huh?” Steve asks, voice dropping into something low and sultry.

Bucky _blushes_.

“Fuck you, you put the idea in my head.”

Steve reels Bucky in and kisses him hard on the mouth. Bucky melts against him, pushing his warm body against Steve’s, searing him even through his clothes. It’s hard not to get carried away when Bucky’s lips open so easily for him and the minty taste of his tongue compels Steve to kiss him until he can get at the taste of Bucky buried underneath.

When they draw apart, Bucky’s flushed a darker red and Steve’s breathing hard. He almost dives back in, but Bucky stops him with a hand on his chest.

“One more thing,” he says, half gasping. “I want it to be a surprise.”

“What?” Steve says stupidly. Then, when it hits, “Wait, _what_?”

Bucky licks his lips, more nervous gesture than enticement.

“The pills. Powder it and give it to me. Don’t tell me. I want—” He licks his lips again, and this time, there’s a shiver that accompanies it, one that doesn’t hide the quiet devastation under it. “Wanna wake up like that.”

“Like what?” Steve asks, a little startled at the sudden drop in his voice, the way he sounds like he’s going to fuck Bucky right here on the floor.

Bucky doesn’t miss the undertone, and his next breath is a shuddering exhale.

“Like—like however you’ve left me.”

“Jesus _Christ_.”

Steve can’t think for a second, bowled over by the mental image Bucky painted with a handful of words. He clutches Bucky tight to him, fingers digging bruises into yielding flesh. Bucky squirms against him, and that makes Steve hold tighter, instinctively. Bucky’s breath catches on a moan, and his face is a picture, half gone just from this.

Steve gives him a little shake, just because he can, knowing it’ll get Bucky boneless and whining in his arms.

“Don’t tease,” Bucky says, pouting up at Steve, and Steve _has_ to bite at the jut of his lower lip, sinking his teeth in and tugging until Bucky’s scrabbling at his shoulders like he can’t decide whether to pull away or let Steve bite him bloody.

He always decides on the same damn thing.

“You trust me that much?” Steve asks, backing off with difficulty, putting some distance—not much—between him and Bucky to help him think a little clearly. “That’s a lot of control you’re handing over.”

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look.

“Steve, I’ve let you stuff your used underwear in my mouth and pull me along on a dog leash. What about this is surprising to you?”

“To be fair,” Steve says, smiling at the memory. “We had this conversation then too.”

“It was the same conversation then, pal. I trust you. I’m _yours_.”

Bucky likes to play dirty sometimes. He knows what it does to Steve to hear that, knows he’ll agree to just about anything if Bucky purrs at him with that submissive tilt to his head.

“You are,” Steve agrees, dragging the words up a very dry throat. His dick’s throbbing in his pants. “That’s why I gotta take care of you, doll.”

“You do, you do,” Bucky gasps between frantic kisses peppered over Steve’s face, lips brushing soft and fever-hot along his jaw, his cheeks, his eyes, glancing off the corners of his mouth. All sweet desperation. “Take such good care of me, baby. S’why I trust you. Let you do anything to me, Stevie, know you’ll be good to me.”

Bucky’s a goddamn menace once he starts sweettalking, and Steve’s even less immune to it now than it was in the 40s. His decision’s already made when he grabs Bucky by both arms and bodily turns him around, shoving him front-first against the kitchen counter and pressing up behind him. Their reflections make a hell of a sight in the mirror, Bucky half-naked and Steve clothed, their faces pink and bright with want.

“Thought about it a lot, did you?” Steve asks, pressing a smile against the curtain of Bucky’s hair. “It get you hot, sweetheart? Got you all squirming?”

Bucky just pants wordlessly, mouth open and silent, his gaze fixed on Steve’s reflection in the mirror. He gets all shy about looking at himself when they do this, at least until Steve makes him look; then he dissolves into a whimpering little mess.

“You touch yourself thinking about it, Buck?”

Bucky whines low in his throat and still doesn’t speak, but that’s fine, Steve knows the answer.

“Four hours.” Steve ducks his head, presses a featherlight kiss to the juncture of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, drags his nose up the long line of Bucky’s throat, smiling when he feels it tremble at the touch. “Lots I can do in four hours.”

“Yes,” Bucky says, nodding jerkily. “Yes, yes, anything.”

“Aw, baby, I don’t need you to tell me that.”

It’s addictive, how Steve can see those words slam into Bucky, blows his pupils wide open and gets him panting like a bitch in heat.

Steve gives him what he wants, because he’s nice like that, pressing his lower half more firmly against Bucky, dragging the tent in his pants against Bucky’s scantily clad ass. Bucky pushes back into it like he can get Steve to just slip into him through two layers of clothing.

“Down, boy,” Steve mocks, reaching up to pinch Bucky’s nipple, drinking in the hiss it elicits. He flicks the reddened bud and lets go, and this time, the sound Bucky makes can’t decide whether it’s relieved or disappointed. “Tell me why.”

“W-what?”

Steve nips at his lobe, a gentle love bite, but Bucky whimpers like Steve’s drawn blood.

“Tell me why you want it like that.”

“I—I did, I told you—”

“I don’t wanna hear about how good I take care of you, baby, I fuckin’ know I do.” He fists a hand in Bucky’s hair and gives it a good tug, the same time as he slides his other hand down Bucky’s thong to cup his dick. Bucky’s reaction is a full-bodied jolt that Steve can feel in his own spine. “Tell me what you thought of when you jerked at this pretty little thing. When you had half your hand crammed in your ass and was still whining for more.”

“Steve,” Bucky yelps, throaty and scandalized, like Steve can’t see how it gets him hot.

“Bucky.” Steve licks at his neck, over the fading yellow of a bruise he left last night. “Answer me.”

He gives Bucky a moment or two to gather himself. He doesn’t let go of his hair or his dick, but he loosens his grip a little, turns it soothing and sweet. Bucky’s body uncoils against his, muscle by muscle, but it remains a flushed, wanton thing, begging for Steve to mark it up, make a mess.

“Like thinkin’ of it,” Bucky says finally, voice a whispery wreck. “Like you just—knockin’ me out, takin’ over. And I won’t—won’t know, till I wake up, and it’s all there, everything you did, and there won’t be a—a damn thing I could do, ‘cause you’d have used me up, and you’d be there, and you’d use me some more.”

It's a double-edged blade, dancing with words; he can rile Bucky up easy as anything, get him wild, but it goes both ways.

He grinds his cock into Bucky’s ass and gropes along his dick too, and it’s a little bit of a reward for how Bucky did as asked, but mostly, it’s that Steve just can’t help himself, half lost in the deluge of maddening mental images.

“Yeah?” he grits out after a pause, all but growling into Bucky’s ear. “You want me to take advantage, baby? Put you to good use?”

Bucky whimpers, and yeah, he’s always been hit worse when it’s Steve’s mouth spewing the filth.

“Ssh, Buck, I will, you know I will.” Steve bites along the column of Bucky’s throat, leaving little pink imprints that won’t last long. “Sweet little thing like you, how could I resist?”

Bucky’s hips jerk up into his. In the mirror, Steve can see the way Bucky squeezes his eyes shut even as the red on his face turns violently dark. He’s always liked this, being made to feel sweet and pretty and small, and if Steve could manage it when he was five-foot nothing of asthma and spite, he can sure as hell do it now when he’s one of the handful who can pin Bucky somewhere and make him _stay_.

A thought strikes, sudden but not quite out of the blue, and Steve’s speaking before he can think better and hold it in.

“I want you to wake up to it,” he says, and Bucky makes a faint, questioning noise, eyes opening a slit. “Yeah, sweetheart. Gonna use you up and keep on doing it, till the pill wears off and you’re waking to me in you. Maybe I’ll shove a toy in too, how about that? Imagine the stretch. You wouldn’t even fuckin’ scream, be too gone with it.”

Bucky fucking _gushes_ , wetting Steve’s palm.

“Aw, you like that,” Steve croons, his own dick making a royal mess in his pants. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I like it.”

Steve kisses him, catching him at the corner of his jaw before Bucky turns his head so it’s mouth on mouth, a messy affair with too much teeth and tongue. Steve licks up Bucky’s panting breaths and nibbles gently over the cut on his lower lip that’s still just healing.

“I’ll take care of you,” Steve promises, pulling back.

Bucky huffs a breathy laugh, moving restlessly into the hand on his cock and the dick against his ass.

“‘Course you will. It’s so fucking _you_. You’d keep me in bed the whole damn day if I let you, hover around massaging my feet and feeding me fruit.”

“Yeah, but that ain’t all, Buck. I’d dick you down every hour too. Know you need it, seen how damn pouty you get without something in you.”

He emphasizes his point by pressing forward, grinding with renewed fervor against Bucky’s ass. The twin layers of fabric between their bare skin, a pleasant tease until now, starts to feel unbearable.

Steve backs up a little, gut drawing taut at Bucky’s plaintive whine, and reluctantly lets go of Bucky’s cock to grab hold of his waistband instead. There’s not much of one, just some gauzy fabric that feels like it’ll tear if Steve breathes on it.

“Just look at this thing.” Steve gives it a light yank and sure enough, the fabric tears like tissue paper, leaving a scrap of see-through black in his hand. “Wrapped up all pretty. Showin’ how you’re gagging for it.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky gasps, red down to his hard, rosy nipples. “Christ, you—fuckin’ do something about it then.”

“Ask nicely.”

Bucky glares at Steve’s reflection, the effect lost with how fucked-out he looks already, wound up and ready to blow with just a few dirty words. Steve loves this man to death and wants to see him cry a little.

He brings Bucky’s torn panties to his face and, holding Bucky’s punch-drunk gaze in the mirror, inhales the soap-musk scent of it.

Bucky’s knees buckle, but Steve doesn’t let him collapse—presses forward with his hips and releases Bucky’s hair to wind that arm around his waist, holding him tight. The position makes the bathroom counter dig uncomfortably into Bucky’s tender underbelly, and Steve leans in a little more, just to watch Bucky grit his teeth and whimper at the hard chill of it.

He takes one last drag of the panties and lets it drop. That hand curls over the counter edge, close to Bucky but conspicuously not touching.

“Ask nicely,” he repeats, much less nicely himself, this time.

“Touch me,” Bucky says immediately because he’s got his priorities sorted, this boy.

“Touch you where?” Steve asks, just to be an asshole.

That stumps Bucky, who freezes wide-eyed, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he struggles and fails to form words. Steve kisses along his shoulder, brushing lips over flesh and metal and tonguing the scars where they join. That just winds Bucky up further, gets him gasping wordlessly, and Steve takes pity on him, cups one hand around his leaking dick and slides the other between his soft cheeks.

The teasing press of his thumb to Bucky’s hole pulls a high-pitched noise out of him. He pushes back into it, a sudden, fierce motion that makes the tip of the finger slide inside a little.

He’s warm there, soft and yielding, maybe a little too much.

“Huh,” Steve says consideringly, trying to pin down Bucky’s flighty gaze in the mirror. “You play with yourself in the shower, Buck?”

“Jesus,” Bucky hisses, and if he turns any redder, he might just combust.

“That ain’t my name.”

“Captain Asshole.”

“That’s _Commander_ Asshole to you, sweetheart.”

Steve gets a not-so-secret thrill out of seeing Bucky flounder at that. Steve can just bet that he’s thinking of the times they’ve taken advantage of Steve’s new title and the amenities that come with to play out a few scenes that would have landed Steve in superhero jail if they were ever true.

“You didn’t answer me,” Steve says, pressing his advantage. He gives a nasty little tug to Bucky’s rim and grins at his startled yelp. “Touch yourself, Buck? Couldn’t fuckin’ wait, could you? Little slut.”

“S’not like that,” Bucky protests, sweet and desperate now, giving in the second Steve gets a little mean. “It’s for you, Steve, you know it is.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!”

“Hmm.” Steve rubs his face against Bucky’s bared neck, the bristles of his beard rubbing the sensitive skin, leaving it raw. “That’s awful nice of you. Be a pity to let all that work go to waste.”

Bucky says nothing, but his face says everything all the same. Steve drinks in the hazy eyes and open mouth, then reaches up with the hand that was on Bucky’s cock and slides two fingers into his mouth.

Bucky opens up like a dream, sucking wetly at the digits, tongue laving over blunt nails and even the webbing in between. Steve can’t tear his eyes away from the mirror, cock almost hurting as the sight of Bucky’s wet, red lips puckered around his fingers.

He pulls them out and Bucky, sensing what’s coming, pushes off from the counter to bend forward a little. Steve backs off to allow the motion but doesn’t let go of his ass. He tugs one cheek to the side, exposing Bucky’s hole for Steve’s probing fingers. They slide in easy, the spit enough to get them buried knuckle-deep. Bucky’s breath barely stutters, but as Steve watches, his eyes slide shut with pleasure.

Steve fucks him with those fingers for a little while, slow and lazy, more to feel how open he is than to stretch him out. It’s a tease, Steve’s not denying that. He knows what Bucky can take and how he can take it, and if he pushed in now with nothing but spit to wet the way, Bucky would take him in with tight, clutching heat. Still, there’s something about this, feeling Bucky so intimately, knowing he gets to have this for the rest of their joined lives.

Bucky’s very well behaved through the whole thing, letting Steve grope his insides without complaint or demand.

Bucky shudders when Steve slides his fingers out. Steve flattens a palm along his back, fingers splaying over the gleaming muscles between Bucky’s shoulder blades. All that power, bending so sweetly to Steve’s will at the lightest pressure.

He's always liked bending Bucky over any available surface and now, looking at their reflections, Steve wonders a little that he ever fucks him any other way at all.

Bucky’s face is a vision of its own, skin flushed and eyes fever-bright, all of it half-hidden by the messy fall of his hair. His chest’s a pretty picture, a little bunched from how Bucky’s got his arms pressed close to his torso. It’s the long, sinuous line of his back that Steve keeps returning to, hungrily admiring the graceful arch of his spine and the supple curve of his ass.

He's so inviting like this, his Bucky, and Steve wants sink into his skin, his blood, his bones—inject himself with ravenous violence into Bucky’s very essence.

“Steve,” Bucky mumbles, soft and pleading, desperate from just being bent over and watched.

“Mm?”

Bucky raises lust-drunk eyes to Steve’s, blinking pitifully at him. Steve presses closer, watches his body loom over Bucky. They’re similar in size, but they’re built differently, and there’s something unbearably appealing about Bucky’s thick, sturdy body looking so small and shaky against Steve’s more streamlined bulk.

He reaches out, eyes never leaving the mirror, and grabs hold of Bucky’s pecs, squeezing the ample muscle, not very hard and not to bruise; it’s just to make him feel it, and it’s for Steve too, obsessed as he is with the smooth softness Bucky’s got there.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says again, louder now, a flustered whine. He’s staring at it too, eyes wide and unwavering on where Steve’s hands are cupped over his tits.

“Love your tits, Buck,” Steve tells him, squeezing his handful in emphasis. “Maybe I’ll fuck ‘em first. Leave a mess on your chest for you to wake up to.”

Bucky jolts, the movement pushing his chest further into Steve’s hands. Still, he grumbles a protest, pouting up at Steve like that’ll make him want to do anything other than bite at the plush red of them or shove something between to watch them stretch prettily.

“Ain’t tits.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky and tightens his grasp, catching both nipples between two fingers and grinding them none too gently, pleased when Bucky’s mouth pops open with a cry.

“Shy about the strangest things, aren’t you, Buck?”

Bucky says nothing, not that he seems to in much of a state to do more than pant and squirm weakly, pushing into Steve’s hands and then wriggling like he’s pretending he wants to escape.

Steve lets go of his chest with one last, fond squeeze. The muscles of Bucky’s abdomen jump under his touch, but Steve doesn’t venture further down to where Bucky’s probably aching for touch. He slides them back around, thumbing along the sharp curve of Bucky’s hipbones before settling over the lush swell of his ass. They give in to the gripping pressure of Steve’s fingers even sweeter than Bucky’s pecs, the skin reddening up with barely a touch. Steve smacks one. It jiggles prettily, and Bucky yelps, the sound turning into a whimper when Steve massages the pink handprint.

“Please,” Bucky gasps, voice deep and rich with need.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me,” comes the instantaneous response, pulling a smile out of Steve.

“With what, huh? Should I just push in? You wet enough, honey?”

“I—I don’t—you could, I—”

Steve waits, feigning impatience, for those string of words to dissolve into something coherent. They don’t, but Steve gets the sense of it away, smugness tugging at the corners of his mouth.

He leans over Bucky, plastering his chest to Bucky’s back, sighing at the inviting warmth seeping through his shirt. He roots around in one of the sink cabinets with one hand, but most of his focus is on brushing his mouth whisper-light over the shell of Bucky’s ear.

“Christ, you’re a mess. Would just let me shove it in and tear you open with how desperate you are.” Bucky shivers violently. He doesn’t say a single word, but Steve can read a whole dialogue in the heavy-lidded gaze that meets his. “Yeah, I know you can take it. Doesn’t mean you’re going to unless and until I damn well want you to.”

“Yes, Steve,” Bucky agrees dazedly.

Steve’s fingers close around a familiar tube, and he straightens up, clicking the lube open and squirting some directly into Bucky’s crack. The cold draws a hiss out of him, one that turns into a deeper, rougher sound when Steve’s fingers follow the path of the slick to rub it over Bucky’s hole, the tips dipping in to tug and tease. He smears a bit more there and slicks up his dick more generously.

Bucky’s breathing fills up the room, gives the air a beating pulse.

Steve spreads his cheeks wide and takes a moment to admire the dark furl of Bucky’s hole before he starts to push inside, breath catching on a moan as he watches himself be taken inch by inch into that tight, shuddering heat.

He holds his breath until he bottoms out. It rushes out of him in a hushed gasp, everything brimming up in him, too much to bridle. He bows over Bucky, gripping the counter on either side of him, and it takes Steve a moment to pry his eyes open, but when he does, it’s Bucky face they fly to.

Bucky’s always a pleasure to watch when he’s got something stuffing him full, and he sure doesn’t disappoint now, with his dark, hazy eyes and wet, panting mouth. One look, and Steve’s pressing forward, trying to crave a place deeper within Bucky, and he knows there’s not another inch he can take but can’t help trying anyway, not when each demanding grind tears raw, helpless sounds out of Bucky. Steve wants more of it, more of everything, and god, he’s greedy, _gluttonous_ , to feast on this beautiful boy and still ache for more.

Steve runs his hands along Bucky’s tense, sweat-slick skin, the touches gentle at parts and scraping skin raw at others, soothing and hurting in equal measure. Bucky reacts like a dream, mouth open on an endless stream of sounds, sweet little whimpers mingling with broken shouts, all of it, every fucking syllable, for Steve to have and hear and hold.

He could fuck Bucky like this, make him come and come inside him, and it’d be so good, but it’s not enough, he knows it’s not, and he doesn’t quite think, just acts, grabbing both of Bucky’s arms and yanking them away from where they’re braced on the counter.

It destroys Bucky’s balance, almost sweeps his feet out from under him, but Steve winds one arm around Bucky’s waist and uses the other to wrest his arms back. Bucky’s pliant enough, crossing them at the wrists at Steve’s guiding nudge and going limp with a guttural groan when Steve closes his free hand around both wrists. The flesh gives prettily under his fingers, while the metal remains unyielding, and he loves the contrast, can get drunk on how Bucky surrenders to him with everything he’s got, the soft and the hard parts of him given over freely, sweetly.

The whole thing takes maybe half a minute, but Steve slips out a little with their changed postures. He shoves those few inches back inside, hips slamming against Bucky’s, balls slapping skin, and he can’t tell whether Bucky’s high, wavering shout is for that or for how, like this, he’s only kept upright by Steve’s hands imprisoning his flesh and Steve’s cock impaling him.

Steve looks in the mirror and almost blows his load then and there.

Bucky’s—god, he’s _obscene_ , skin a violent, splotchy red, eyes blown so wide, no blue left in their luminous dark. His chest and shoulders are pulled taut, muscles straining to hold this position. It’ll hurt soon, maybe already does, just as taking both their weights will pull at Steve’s tendons. But they can take it; men made to love war can afford to let some war bleed into the love.

Steve starts moving, and he’s slow at first, getting a feel for holding Bucky up and fucking him good, but it spirals out of control within moments, need spreading like fire through his veins, filling every aching hollow in him, and Bucky’s no better, gasping with every thrust, eyes wide and bright, wet with tears that start sliding down his cheeks, the sight rending whatever restraint Steve clung to.

He never pulls out much, can’t bear to leave all that warm wetness, but he’s brutal in every inch he gives, tearing out and slamming back in, chasing the pleasure and the heat with an intensity that borders on madness. Bucky eggs him on with sound and sight, crying out on Steve’s cock and shaking apart at the seams. His cock bounces with every thrust, red and dripping, so needy that Steve knows he can come just like this, without even the ghost of a touch.

And he does, seizing up on a vicious stroke, ass clamping down tight around Steve, milking him brutally through each erratic thrust of his cock, until Steve pushes in deep enough to make them both ache and spills, shaking and shuddering through each draining pulse of pleasure.

Bucky’s limp when Steve lets him go, and Steve’s own legs feel like overcooked noodles, but he draws Bucky against himself, presses sweet, soothing kisses all over his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, murmurs endearments against the delicate fall of his eyelids.

Once his breathing calms down and the tremors in his muscles subside, he sweeps Bucky into his arms and carries him to bed, not once looking away from the half-closed blue eyes that spill love out the edges.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think <3


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